


Foundation

by SoDoRoses (FairyChess)



Series: LAOFT Extras [23]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Bittersweet, Immortality, M/M, the major character death is in the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 03:57:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19433449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyChess/pseuds/SoDoRoses
Summary: “In perpetuum, frater, ave atque vale.”- Catullus(Forever and ever, brother, hail and farewell.)Part of theLove and Other FairytalesVerse





	Foundation

**Author's Note:**

> from this prompt from anonymous on tumblr:
> 
> "How does Logan interact with Thomas' kids, grandkids, etc.? Does he ever become a fairy godfather to any of them? Does he watch over them? If one of them tried to make a Deal, would he step in so no one could take advantage of them? Or would he tell them to go home? What does Virgil do?"
> 
> this is much sweeter than requiem but deal with the same "outliving everyone you love" concepts so its a little ouch

Everybody knew all the Sanders family was a little bit magic.

Nobody knew why, or rather, everybody knew _approximately_ why but nobody was willing to really interrogate the situation.

Brian Sanders, the grandfather of the family, thought it was very amusing, and any attempts to coax more information out of him usually resulted an entirely new explanation or something so nonsensical it was obviously a lie.

But the thing was, Brian Sanders had a way of talking that, even when you knew very well he was lying to you, you couldn’t really be _mad_ about it, because he was just so good at telling stories that it was worth it to let him feel like he’d pulled the wool over your eyes. Any campfire he went to got him swarmed by kids, and sometimes it seemed like the fire itself was leaning towards him, listening to the tale.

No way that kind of talent is _natural_ , everybody said.

His older child, Seth, had a way of disappearing right in front of you – oh you could _see_ him, definitely, he wasn’t actually invisible. But if he didn’t want you to notice him (or the people with him) you just didn’t. Dozens of pranks were gotten away with because Seth had simply waved his partner-in-crime over to him and walked right past the people in charge.

His graduating class was the first in _years_ to get through a senior prank with no expulsions; the auto shop kids disassembled the principal’s car and reassembled it on the roof of the school. But even though the principal had known very well it was the auto shop kids, he couldn’t actually manage to pick an auto shop kid out of the crowd of students to punish them.

The younger child, DJ (short for Dorothy, although nobody really knew what the “J” stood for, considering her middle name was “May”) could find anything. And I mean _anything._

No matter how long ago you’d lost it, or where, even if you’d dropped it straight into the river, DJ only had to roll her eyes and walk in up to her ankles, fish around in the mud for a few seconds, and stand up holding your watch or your necklace or the earring the back had come off of as well as the back itself.

DJ had a daughter as well, Missy, eight years old and the sweetest kind of terror for every one of them. She was delightful, frankly, and the most well-spoken little girl anybody in Wickhills had ever come across. The trouble, of course, being that she could talk just about anybody into just about anything, and have them coming away from it thinking it had been their idea to begin with.

Seeing as she was eight, this usually just meant she got rather more ice cream than was strictly necessary.

None of these things were secret – it was just as much a part of them as the fact they all had the same sweet brown eyes. But it was generally something people didn’t talk about _too_ much, because those who _did_ push the envelope had a tendency to start feeling eyes on them, or trip over suddenly overgrown grass, or give a shiver that was just a little too strong.

So yeah, all the Sanders’ were a little bit magic, the same way all the Wagner’s had straw-blonde hair and all the Adams-Picani’s were either sweet as sugar or hell on wheels with no in-between.

In a place like Wickhills, it was really barely that weird anyway.

* * *

Missy swung her feet back and forth, kicking the cabinets.

“Missy, would you stop?” said her mother, exasperated.

“I dunno, would I stop if _what_?” she asked brightly.

“Oh, you little gremlin! You’re making a racket,”

Missy was not, in fact, making a racket, and she knew it very well. She was also not a gremlin, although her mom and all her uncles would be happy to argue the point, she was sure.

Mom glanced out the window, and then a small smile spread across her face.

“Our guest is here,” she said, grinning.

Missy squealed with delight, leaping off the counter and sprinting towards the back of the house with her mother’s laughter and her Uncle Seth’s “Not got a lick of subtlety, does she?” following her out the door.

Uncle was already laughing by the time she came out the door, and he caught her just as easy as he ever had.

“Hello, Melissa. You’ve grown,” he said, his voice soft, propping her up on his hip.

“You always say that, you just saw me last week!” giggled Missy.

“It is an accurate statement”

“Of _course_ it’s an accurate statement, you goose, you can’t tell lies,” Missy rolled her eyes at him.

Uncle looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh as he pushed the back door open.

“I am not a goose,” he said fondly.

“Hello, Uncle,” said Mom, kissing him on the cheek.

“Hello, Dorothy,”

“Hey, Uncle L. Dad’s already asleep in the chair,” said Uncle Seth, leaning in for a hug that squished Missy between them. She responded by squawking until Uncle let her wriggle out of his grip to the floor.

“Let’s go wake him up!”

“Melissa-” he muttered.

Missy grabbed his hand and leaned back with her whole weight. He didn’t budge, but then he sighed and allowed her to lead him into the living room.

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!”

“Your mother isn’t cooking eggs or bacon,”

“That’s just what you _say_ , you goose,”

Missy climbed up on the arm rest of the recliner and shook Papaw on the arm, and he made some weird snuffling noises. Missy shook him again.

“Papaaaaaaaw, you gotta wake up, Uncle’s here,”

Papaw snorted, blinking up at her and then at Uncle behind her.

“Oh, hello,” he said, “You’re early,”

“I am precisely on time, thank you,” said Uncle, a little, miffed, “As I always am,”

“Where’s Uncle V and Kitty?” asked Papaw.

Uncle looked contrite.

“They couldn’t get away,” he said, “Though they promised to try and come later, if they could,”

Papaw waved a hand.

“Eh, there’s always next week,”

Uncle got a funny look on his face then, a little bit scared and a lot uncomfortable.

“… Yes,” he said tightly.

They helped Papaw to his feet, Uncle on one side and Missy on the other. Papaw patted her on the head and she grinned up at him.

“Would you like to sit next to me, Melissa?” asked Uncle.

“Why yes I would!” said Missy. She didn’t mention this time that he said the same thing every time he came over, because then he might change his mind about her sitting by him.

Maybe, if Missy thought to bring up her Uncle with her school friends, she might have understood there were some strange things about their Saturday Family Dinners.

Maybe that Uncle looked only about the same age as her mother, even though he was Papaw’s uncle, too. Or that his eyes were a really not very normal color at all. Or that his husband, Uncle V, had a tendency to pop out of dark corners rather than use the doors and that her aunts were spiders, which was maybe the strangest part of all.

Maybe she would realize that most uncles can’t sweep their grown adult nieces off the floor, whether she finds it amusing or not. Or maybe that the fact Mom had a picture on the wall of him and Uncle Seth at a science fair, and he looked just the same even though Uncle Seth was only a kid in the picture.

But Missy didn’t think any of these things were strange. That was just How Things Were – Uncle came to dinner on Saturdays, and he never changed.

It was her favorite thing about him.

“What on earth do you mean?” he said incredulously when she told him so, once dinner was over and they were sitting side by side on the porch swing.

“I have the gift of _eloquence_ , Uncle, you know what I said!”

“I gave you that, so I am well aware,” he said dryly, “Please elaborate,”

“Well, you were there when Papaw was a baby, right?”

Uncle got that funny sad look in his eyes again, but he nodded.

“And Uncle Seth and Mom, and me,”

“Yes, obviously,” he said, “But I don’t see how-”

“You’ve always been here,” she said, “And you always will be,”

The sad look got a little more intense.

“Well, the first part is not quite accurate, but- yes, I suppose I will always be here,”

He didn’t sound nearly as pleased about it as Missy did.

“You’re like the dirt!” she said brightly.

Uncle sputtered.

“ _Excuse me_?”

“Every year, we put new plants in the garden,” said Missy, “But the dirt’s always the same dirt. And you have to have the dirt, or there’d be no garden at all. You’re the most important part,”

Uncle didn’t speak for a very long time, but Missy knew she’d said exactly what she needed to.

“Your metaphor is barely coherent,” he said softly.

“But you understood it,” she said decisively.

“I cannot believe I’ve unleashed you on the world,”

“I’m just making sure you know how neat you are,” she said, “I think you forget sometimes,”

Uncle snorted, ruffling Missy’s hair.

“You remind me so much of Thomas,” he said, “I think you’re more like him than your mother or grandfather. It’s strange how it skips generations like that,”

“Papaw said his Dad was a goofball, but I don’t know what a goofball is,”

“He was, in fact, a goofball,” said Uncle. “But very – aware, I suppose, of other people feelings. Mine especially,”

“Well, that’s not so hard,” said Missy, “You wear them all over your face,”

“Most people do not consider me overly emotive,”

“They’re not looking right,”

Uncle smiled that sorta sad smile again, and then he leaned over, opening his arm. Missy climbed to her knees and shuffled over until she was she was snuggled up against his ribs.

“You’re very smart for eight years old,”

“And your very spry for pushing a hundred,” Missy said primly, “S’not nice to give backhanded compliments, Uncle,”

“Oh, because ‘you resemble dirt’ is so much better,”

“That’s a _misleading_ compliment, not a backhanded one,” said Missy, “Dirt’s _objectively_ a good thing,”

“Somehow I think your mother, who does your laundry, would disagree,”

Missy grinned up at him.

“No, I don’t think she would,” said Missy, “You’re _everybody’s_ favorite, not just mine,”

Uncle’s silver eyes got a little shiny, and he leaned over and kissed the top of Missy’s head.

“As always, you missed the point entirely,” he said softly.

“No, I didn’t,”

He smiled against the top of her head.

“Alright,” he said, “I suppose you didn’t,”

**Author's Note:**

> im [ tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors ](tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors.tumblr.com) over on tumblr if you have a prompt or two feel free to go nuts because i never get sick of writing for laoft


End file.
